Time Well Spent
by dovahkiing
Summary: Harry Potter takes up Hagrid's class while he's away in Romania. The wizarding world is in crisis, students are disappearing and on top of it all, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has Harry feeling like an awkward 14 year old all over again.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, so I've been out of the Harry Potter loop since DHP2 came out so forgive me if I make some dumb mistakes!  
Hope ya'll enjoy reading~**

* * *

 **HPOV**

Harry blinked, vaguely aware that he'd heard a knock at his office door.  
"Come in." The door opened and the bright face of one of his students flashed him a magnificent grin as she stepped into the room.  
"Professor Potter!" she breathed and strode eagerly towards his desk, a heavy stack of books under her arm.  
"Haigslea, we talked about this, I'm not a professor." At barely 22 years old and with no degree, he felt he had no right to claim such a title. Only through circumstance and a lot of begging from Rubeus Hagrid did he come to have his own office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His own job- well, at least until the year was done.  
"Mr. Potter?" she asked thoughtfully.  
"Like we discussed, yes." Harry sat up straight and stretched casually, fighting the urge to yawn. "Now what can I help you with?"  
"I was hoping you could tell me something about this terms curriculum- what can I expect from this class?"  
"Well, it's only the first week of class, but essentially I plan for us to cover 3 different species; two beasts, one creature." When she didn't speak he pressed on, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. "The first will be announced during class tomorrow."  
"Alright, but, will we be working in teams? Will there be both practical and theoretical segments each class or will it alternate weekly? Will there be surprise quizzes I need to prepare for? Will we be focusing on their scientific elements or purely on their magical ones- will there be a _dissection_? What equipment should I bring-"  
"Haigslea, calm down," he laughed and shook his head incredulously. She reminded him greatly of Hermione. "No surprise quizzes, I can promise that much, but just like everyone else you'll have to find out about the rest of the class plans, _during class_."  
He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes when he said no quizzes but she steeled herself and sighed, nodding in acceptance. _Definitely like Hermione_.  
"Alright. See you tomorrow, then."  
"Tomorrow," he confirmed as she turned on her heel and left his office, the wooden door swinging silently shut behind her.  
Harry sighed and put his face in his hands, a cold ball of dread welling in his stomach as he continued to consider Haigslea's questions.  
"Bloody student knows more about running a class than I do," he groaned, wondering to himself why he ever accepted this job in the first place. The sight of a familiar letter near the edge of his desk reminded him of course, that this job was a favor for Hagrid who was on holiday in Romania, studying dragons. Harry smiled knowingly, wondering if he'd reunited with Norbit yet.

A stand-in professor. He could barely make sense of why Hagrid had asked him of all people to take this class. Harry Potter- the boy-who-lived, the _Chosen One._ What a joke. How were these students supposed to take him seriously at all with all the rumors and his ridiculous reputation. He strongly doubted he was professor material at all and yet, he still felt a small zing of pride knowing Hagrid at least believed in his ability. But he supposed he always had, right from day one.

* * *

Breakfast the following morning was slow, and yet went by too quickly. It was the strangest feeling eating at the teachers' table at the far end of the great hall, sitting next to professors who had educated him not that long ago. And now they were his colleagues.  
An ocean of chattering students swarmed into the hall and out of it again in the space of an hour, eating breakfast and discussing their schedules. He almost wished to be back amongst the rabble- to be back in class. But now he had one to teach and that was no place to be lost in bittersweet memories.

He found himself outside Hagrid's hut 15 minutes later, shuffling awkwardly through a stack of papers. He thought to himself how different teaching a class of 13 year-olds about magical animals was to teaching a small band of rebellious teens his own age basic defensive magic. Vastly different it seemed.  
Harry swallowed nervously as a pack of 20 or so robed students made their merry way down the green slope towards where he stood waiting, still holding a stack of papers.  
Harry could hear fragments of individual conversations now that they were closer, but what caught his attention was the collection of the all too familiar ' _Monster Book of Monsters_ '. Some students had theirs purring nicely, others were covered in scrapes and shallow cuts while holding the book at arms length, snarling and heavily bound.  
A light, friendly chorus of 'good mornings' greeted him as the students came to a halt and he nodded in response, smiling automatically. Harry spotted Haigslea standing off to the side with one girl who was wind chafed and plain, but pretty. She wore her black hair in two long braids that fell in front of her shoulders, tied off with purple bands that matched the frames of her large square glasses. The scarf she wore around her neck bore the bright colours of house Hufflepuff while the large crest on Haigslea's robes read 'Ravenclaw'.  
"Morning class. Today we will be going for a quick wander through the Forbidden Forest- not too far in though, of course." A light murmur broke through the huddled group, some expressions of concern. "It's not so bad," Harry started, uncertain of how to reassure his class he wasn't walking them to their deaths. "Really, it's daylight and we won't be going in too far, but there's someone I'd like you to meet." Harry flashed them a knowing grin and he was pleased when the unsettled murmuring didn't return.  
Harry led his class around the side of the hut and towards the forest, walking quite briskly while the excited students seemed to buzz with conversation.

"Professor!" A familiar voice called out and Harry resisted the urge to groan.  
"Haigslea, we've talked about this _twice_ now."  
"Sorry," she said, while seeming completely not sorry. "Mr. Potter," she corrected herself, though her tone bordered sarcastic levels.  
"Yes, Haigslea."  
"Will this person we're meeting tell us anything about what we're studying this term?"  
"I'm hoping so, yes."  
"' _Hoping so_ '?" she repeated despondently.  
"Well it depends on how much attention you pay him. I suggest you give him all your attention actually- that is, if you hope to really learn anything." Harry grinned but didn't look at her, choosing instead to stare straight ahead at the tree line where the Forbidden Forest began.  
"I always pay attention!" Haigslea protested, sounding indignant.  
"I'm sure you do," he nodded decisively as they walked past the first few trees which gave way to the rest of the forest that spiralled above them in a grey tangle of branches.  
Haigslea seemed pleased with this and dropped back to walk with her Hufflepuff classmate whose name Harry had not yet memorized.

Some time passed as they walked amongst the slender black trunks, twigs snapping underfoot. A small group of Gryffindors trudged loudly behind Harry as he led the class through the trees, when he noticed them speaking about a very familiar topic.  
"... Have you heard they still haven't found a defense against the dark arts teacher?"  
"Didn't they say something about a new teacher?"  
"A new teacher?"  
"I never heard anything."  
"Yeah, sure they did!"  
"Did you catch a name?"  
"Nah, just that he was moving from overseas."  
"Overseas? You mean he'll have an accent?" The others laughed at the brown haired boy's question.  
"What's that got to do with anything?"  
"Nothin' I guess." He shrugged and that was the end of the conversation regarding the mysterious new teacher.

A new teacher? Harry hadn't heard anything from McGonagall but, of course, he hadn't really thought to ask either. He'd hardly talked to any of his fellow educators, in fact. Since arriving at Hogwarts he found himself spending a lot of his time alone, wandering around the grounds inspecting the Thestral and Hippogriff herds, trying to decide which would be best to show off to his class. Eventually he'd decided to follow in Hagrid's footsteps and introduce a Hippogriff, feeling confident it would go quite well provided his class didn't contain any Malfoys. _Malfoy_. Now that was a name he hadn't thought about in a long time. Harry scoffed to himself, a myriad of memories flashing through his mind of 'the Ferret'. His feelings of animosity towards Draco Malfoy had certainly faded but the subconscious dislike remained, integrated and stubborn.

" _So childish_ ," he muttered to himself before becoming aware he was still surrounded by students. Thankfully, no one seemed to hear him.

* * *

One paper, two papers- three. Every teacher along the table received some sort of newspaper, except it wasn't a newspaper at all. Thick, greedy letters stole up the page that seemed foggy whenever Harry tried to read them.  
"More missing?"  
"I thought they had a suspect already?"  
"They had nothing to go on."  
The room was lit with fretful nattering, the teachers cross-referencing information that Harry could barely make sense of.  
"I'm sorry, but- what's going on?" Harry asked and McGonagall gave him a quick look before holding her hands up, signalling the others to quiet down.  
"No one from Hogwarts has gone missing thus far, however that is not reason enough to dismiss taking precautions. This evening I shall inform the students a new set of regulations will be implemented into their schedules." She spoke briskly but with an air of calming finality that seemed to settle the room.  
"What kind of precautions, Professor?" Harry spoke again, feeling horribly out of place amongst his new peers.  
"I'm hoping to determine them now, Mr Potter." She spoke as matter-of-factly as ever and Harry sat back in his seat, still lost as to which disappearances they were referring.

Harry listened to the discussions, keywords catching his attention. 'Curfews'. 'Travelling only in groups'. 'Cancelled excursions'. Such extreme measures hadn't been taken since his third year at Hogwarts and Harry felt a tight knot clenching in his chest. _What's going on_?  
After what seemed an eternity, they decided on a concise list of strict school-wide precautions that they themselves would be expected to abide by.  
"Classes shall continue as normal today until I am able to address the entire school this evening." And with that, the teachers filed out of the room, already walking in huddled groups of 3 or more.  
"Professor-"  
"Mr. Potter. Do you expect me to believe you've not read a paper for the last 2 months?" Harry felt like he was in his first year again when McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him.  
"I've been preoccupied," he answered honestly and she huffed, her eyes rolling.  
"The Ministry has advised us to be on high alert, Mr. Potter. Students with magical talent all over Europe are going missing without a trace."  
"Surely they couldn't get into _Hogwarts_ to take anyone?" The idea seemed ludicrous to Harry that any ordinary kidnapper could successfully enter and leave Hogwarts without detection, let alone while stealing a student.  
"I'm sure that's what Durmstrang Institute said as well."  
" _Durmstrang_ has students missing? We're only 9 days into the school year!"  
"I know that, Harry," she sighed in frustration, obviously consumed with her own concerns. "All we can do, is be sensible and careful."  
"Yes, Professor," he agreed, still feeling as if he was not fully aware of what was going on. After 2 whole months they still don't have any leads to go on? McGonagall turned to leave the conference room when Harry remembered an important question he'd been meaning to ask since his class with the third years last Thursday.  
"Uh- Professor, I've been meaning to ask... Have you chosen anyone to teach the defense against the dark arts class?"  
"Is that an offer, Mr. Potter?" She peered at him over the top of her glasses, a slight grin on her lips.  
"No, I just heard my students saying something about a new teacher from overseas?" he spoke too fast, desperate to dissuade her from actually considering him for the notoriously shady job.  
"You should know better than to listen to your students' gossiping," she gives him a stern look then, but it softens just before she turns around again and leaves the room. From out in the hall he hears her call out, "Doesn't mean they're not occasionally onto something."

* * *

The candles dipped low, the reflected sky a pit of pitch black, splattered with stars that seemed almost close enough to touch. The warmth in the room felt shadowed by the tumorous topic that crept its way, insidiously, into each and every conversation throughout the great hall. Teacher and student alike enthralled by fear, however lightly, as rumour and all relevant variations stole their attentions. Gasps and groans rattled the very walls of the hall as McGonagall read aloud from her podium.  
"Until further notice, no student is to wander the grounds without the company of at least 2 other students. Curfew is now at 8pm, I expect you all in your dormitories by then. Quidditch practice will only be held on weekends under the supervision of at least 2 senior staff. And finally, all excursions to Hogsmede village will be cancelled." A loud, defiant roar of displeasure rose from all four house tables but subsided almost instantly when they caught the look on McGonagall's face. "Any student caught breaking _any_ of these rules, _will be expelled_." There was such an emphasis on the last few words she spoke that the entire hall went silent.  
 _'Expelled'._ A verdict that had always been Harry's greatest fear. Even though it was no longer applicable to him, he felt just as threatened by the prospect as he had in his very first year. McGonagall took her seat and the food appeared en masse but everyone seemed slightly hesitant to begin this evenings feast.  
Harry found himself sitting at the very far end of the teachers table next to Professor Slughorn, who seemed to be enjoying a very incomprehensible conversation about wormroot with Professor Sprout. Potions and herbology. Definitely not his strong points.  
Dinner passed by as slowly as it had every night before this, sitting silent unless spoken to. Harry wasn't sure what he had expected things to be like when he returned to Hogwarts. It just wasn't the same without Ron and Hermione. Perhaps he'd firecall them later and catchup- no doubt Hermione would be interested to know how his first week of teaching at their school had gone.

At 7:36pm, Harry excused himself and exited the hall, thinking of all the things he'd like to tell Ron and Hermione. They were bound to have an endless stream of questions. Under normal circumstances he may have found the prospect overwhelming but this time he grinned broadly in anticipation, barely aware he was smiling at all. The halls were abuzz with nervous life as Harry walked briskly by, completely absorbed in his own task. He noted a number of familiar ghosts chatting in a group, they themselves apparently not immune to the trepidation now flooding the school. He nodded in acknowledgement of Nearly Headless Nick before he walked straight into someone, nearly knocked clean off his feet. The man didn't stop walking or even turn, instead choosing to swear something filthy under his breath as he kept moving along, almost jogging.  
"Was that...?" He shook his head and straightened his glasses, before continuing to his quarters. "Nah."

* * *

 **DPOV**

 _Is that...?_ Of course it was.  
Draco Malfoy watched as Harry bloody Potter walked towards him in the crowded corridor, his attention seemingly on another planet. So much so he apparently didn't notice his own feet change direction, causing them to unceremoniously slam into each other. Potter stumbled clumsily, nearly landing on his arse while Draco kept facing forward, refusing to make eye contact.  
"Fucking _idiot_."  
He couldn't believe it. Potter himself walking through the halls of Hogwarts wearing that stupid grin across his face. What could he possibly be doing here? Of all the places in England, why did he have to be _here_? Wasn't he supposed to be working for the Ministry these days? In the Auror department? Yes, of course. He must be here about the disappearances.  
Draco exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath as he entered the great hall. Minerva McGonagall sat in the headmaster's seat at the middle of the teachers table, engaged in conversation with a teacher he didn't recognize. As he approached the table McGonagall looked up, a slight smile on her tired face. Upon closer inspection, the entire party at the teachers' table seemed to be fighting blatant exhaustion, even at only 9 days into the first term.  
The Headmistress stood up and extended her hand across the table for Draco to take it in greeting, forcing himself to smile politely.  
"Mr. Malfoy, so good of you to come."  
"Pleasure to be here, Headmistress." They released hands and she beckoned for him to follow her out of the hall through the back exit. Once they were out of the room she turned to face him again, looking almost... relieved.  
"Malfoy, I trust your journey from France was a pleasant one?"  
"Please, Professor, call me Draco." She seemed to understand the hidden meaning behind his request and merely nodded. "My journey could barely be counted as one. Portkey." He added with a chuckle, readjusting the coat slung neatly over his left forearm.  
"Is your family adjusting well there?"  
"As well as can be expected. Not many people seemed to even know a war was going on over here. Astounding, really, but it made the switch a lot smoother."  
"I really do appreciate you coming back here, Draco," McGonagall said in a serious voice, causing him to lift a brow in mild surprise.  
"Speaking of returns, were my eyes correct when they spotted Potter?"  
"Yes." She answered simply, which only opened up room for more questions. Before he could ask she continued. "He's a teacher here, like you."  
"A _teacher_? Potter could barely pay attention in class when he was a _student_." He meant each word but every syllable was laced with airy laughter, masking his genuine distaste.  
"I know your past with Harry Potter is a complicated one, but I expect you both to behave professionally. This is no time for Hogwarts' teachers to be quarrelling." Her sharp tone was as sobering as it ever was, harsher and colder than ice. But she was right, of course.  
"Yes, Professor." He nodded once, his right hand grasping the coat on his left forearm tensely. They stood in silence for a few moments- Draco still desperate for answers about Potter's unwelcome presence- before she spoke again.  
"It is as bad as the papers say?"  
"Worse." He swallowed, nails gripping the coat on his left arm, jaw set. "It's only a matter of time before it happens here."  
"Are they that certain?"  
"They can't see why Hogwarts would be an exception."  
"Very well. Your office and your quarters are near the hospital wing. I trust you can find your way." She nodded as he gave a half bow and they left in opposite directions.

The population in the corridors had thinned out in the last 20 minutes and Draco was grateful for the calmer atmosphere.  
How peculiar, he thought, that even though Hogwarts remained free of kidnappings, it too had become so wary. Fragments of fractions of conversations echoed in hushed tones off glistening walls, insipid and simple. Rumours running rampant without control, without sense, without fact. Perhaps that is why people find them so tantalizing. Pathetic.  
The walls seemed to hum with a familiar energy, friendly and rhythmic, almost reaching out to him as he strode down corridor after corridor on his way to the hospital wing. A piece of folded parchment baring instructions was gripped in his left hand, the other absently rubbing his forearm through his neatly folded coat. Shining black shoes made sharp sounds against the stone floor, seeming to grow louder as less people wandered the halls. Eventually Draco found his new office and discovered his belongings, of course, had already arrived and were placed neatly about the room, clothes unpacked into drawers, his quill and inkwell atop the heavy-set mahogany desk. A door in the back of the room no doubt led to his private quarters and he caught himself longing to lie down and clear his head; organizing his living space would have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

The sun hadn't risen yet but the gentle orange glow of dawn was beginning to seep into the darkened sky. Draco stayed rather still on his side, a mess of heavy blankets bunched on top of him as he watched the sun climb above the horizon, slightly blinding through a narrow parting in the curtains. He'd missed that English sunrise.  
While France had been a beautiful place, truly suited to his refined tastes, it hadn't been right. It didn't feel like England. It didn't feel like Hogwarts. It didn't feel like home. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that.  
He turned onto his back and pushed his hair out of his face, staring into the canopy of the four poster bed. The dust rose in swirls when he moved, dancing in the straining strands of sunlight that slipped between the curtains, seeming to glow against the darkness of his room. Draco exposed a single arm from beneath his blankets and lifted it to greet the floating particles; observing with keen interest how the air flow changed and carried the dust in between his fingertips.  
His lidded eyes caught sight of his sleeve, torn and patched by layers of blood stains, old and new alike. Beneath the tattered cloth swam the blurry red mark, inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. The chorus began, overlapping and compulsive as he chanted silently those words he needed to remember. Inert and unfeeling.  
He retracted his arm- his sin, his burden- and tore the blankets from his body, ready to set to work on making his office presentable.

Pencils and quills on proud display, papers stacked neatly on the desk. Ink wells carefully stored in impossibly deep drawers, his wand flicking skillfully between his fingers as he admired his work. The room was definitely more acceptable now with blatantly elegant decor touching every corner of the room. Vases, glass top tables, silver trim wherever you saw the colour green. Truly a Slytherin's paradise. Two chairs placed opposite his imposing desk ready for guests, a tea cart in the corner of the room. Hand crafted no doubt, intricate patterns carved into the wood paneling of the trolley. A cream coloured tea set sat on top, its delicate, wisping patterns an astounding shade of emerald that seemed to move as if alive. Perhaps they were.  
With a flick of his wrist the trolley moved towards his desk and Draco sat down in silence, watching as a teacup and saucer glided smoothly to land in front of him on the wooden surface. Water. Black tea. 4 sugars; a nasty habit- his secret. Another gesture and the cup was painfully hot, ready to stir. His finger hovered above the cup, moving in tight but lazy circles as he urged the spoon to move. It obeyed. The sugar dissolved. The murky liquid cooled. A sip. A sigh.  
Draco withdrew his pocketwatch and blankly stared at the numbers on the clock face as if he couldn't understand what they meant.  
6:30 in the morning. Breakfast would be starting soon.  
He took another sip of tea and despite its four cubes of sugar, it still tasted bitter. He finished the tea slowly and after a quick cleaning spell, left it clean and neatly placed once more on the tea cart.  
He left the room and locked the door with his wand before tucking it away into his trouser pocket. Students he didn't recognize greeted him in the halls as 'Mister' and 'Sir', unwilling to call him 'professor' without knowing if it would be appropriate. He flashed them each a dazzling smile despite feeling the opposite as he walked towards the great hall for breakfast, his hand latched anxiously on his left forearm as usual. He looked where his hand rested and scowled at the all-too-obvious stitching he'd done to patch up the worn sleeve time and again, over and over. Inert and unfeeling. Perhaps no one would notice?

At each table there would have been no more than 5 students, some grouped, some alone. The warm fragrances of buttered toast, scrambled eggs and bacon filled the great hall, assorted muffin baskets placed almost decoratively amongst the steaming platters.  
He found only 2 professors sitting at the teachers table, thankfully neither of them named 'Potter'. He didn't think he had the energy to deal with such a smug git so early in the day.  
Draco took his seat and collected a muffin and a slice of quiche before pouring himself a half glass of orange juice. He swallowed a mouthful and grimaced, having forgotten he'd just drank hot tea. _Unpleasant_.  
It didn't take long for more students to file into the room, some apparently needing to lean half asleep on their friends, others already filled with energy. It also didn't take long for more teachers turn up, one at a time, some carrying schedules, some wearing slippers. He sat with his arms crossed, his plate clean, his cup empty and he waited. 7 o'clock. 8 o'clock.  
At 8:20 he saw him walk into the room, two young witches on his tail talking avidly about Merlin knows what. Even now he's still the fan favourite.  
"Tch." Potter was dressed casually in a dark red shirt that seemed far too big for him; not that he was by any means still the scrawny teenage boy he once was. Those ridiculous round frames switched out for rectangular ones, much more suited to his face. Faded black and white sneakers and, _my god,_ has he ever seen a comb in his life?  
As they got closer Draco could hear them speaking.  
"If you would just answer, Professor-!"  
"Haigslea! Please-"  
"Sorry!"  
"Haigslea. It's eight in the morning. Go eat your breakfast. If you have _relevant_ questions about my class, _ask me in the evening- in my office- like everyone else_. That goes for you as well, Castra." The girls looked let down but obeyed regardless, opting to sit together at the Hufflepuff table. Potter watched them leave, apparently relieved, and turned to continue his way towards the table. Before he'd made it to the podium he'd stopped walking, instead choosing to stare directly at Draco who stared back, face set, eyes cold. Potter's poker face was non-existent with that slack jaw and wide eyes. _Idiot._  
A calm grin and a nod of acknowledgment, then, obviously had Potter reeling. His mouth moved as if he was going to speak but, from this distance it'd be almost pointless. After mere seconds that felt like weeks, he finally broke eye contact and took his own seat, supposedly uninterested in eating anything.

* * *

 **HPOV**

As soon as he'd stepped out of his office he'd found Haisglea and her Hufflepuff friend Castra waiting for him. He sighed inwardly and returned their words of greeting.  
"How can I help today, girls."  
"Mr. Potter, we were really hoping if you'd tell us more about why these new rules are being introduced. We know it's because of the disappearances at Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. but we want to know more!"  
"I'm not saying anything until our next class, Castra, and by then a different teacher or student may have told you anything else you haven't heard yet. Why are you even asking me?"  
"We figured you'd know, you're the Headmistress's favourite."  
"Haigslea." Harry started to wonder if that wasn't the most often word he spoke every day anymore.  
"It's true though, isn't it?" she laughed and elbowed Castra who yelped quietly in surprise. It was obvious who the ringleader was between these two.  
"It is most certainly not true," he sighed and didn't bother to hide it as he walked through the doors to the great hall, the girls still in tow.  
"Are you sure you won't tell us anything?"  
"Yes. Definitely."  
"Aw, if you would just answer, Professor-!"  
"Haigslea! Please-"  
"Sorry!"  
"Haigslea. It's eight in the morning. Go eat your breakfast. If you have _relevant_ questions about my class, _ask me in the evening- in my office- like everyone else._ That goes for you as well, Castra." With some frustrated grumbling the girls seemed defeated, finally, and they walked to the Hufflepuff table in a discontented silence.  
"Why is it always me they pester." Harry spoke quietly to himself; not really asking, not really knowing. He glanced at the teacher's table for a spare seat when his eyes noticed a familiar shade of white. He stopped walking and focused, unable to confirm nor deny what- _who_ \- he saw.  
Draco. _Malfoy._ What's a bloody Malfoy doing back here in Englan-... The teacher from overseas. Oh, no. Oh, _why_! The man nods and smirks, not harshly, not kindly. His hair is the same brilliant glow of white it always was, perhaps an inch or two longer now but no less immaculate. His dress was nothing short of flawless, smart and clean.  
And probably hideously expensive.


	2. Chapter 2

**HPOV**

"You won't believe this."  
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, obviously surprised to find Harry making a second firecall in as many days.  
" _I_ can't believe this," Harry continued, caught up in his own thoughts.  
"What can't you believe?" Ron took his seat on the floor in front of the fireplace, wearing a sweater too-thick for early September.  
"Malfoy's here." Harry answered, his guts feeling as hollow as his words sounded.  
"That Ferret's at Hogwarts? What's he doin' there, then?" The look of disgust on Ron's face was somehow comforting to Harry who was finding it difficult to place his own emotions.  
"I asked McGonagall that after breakfast- when I saw him- and she said he's a teacher. _Defense against the dark arts_ teacher." Ron snorted in spite of himself, Harry feeling as if he'd missed a joke. "What? It's not funny!"  
"Suits him, don't you think?"  
"That's not the point!"  
"What's not the point?" called a familiar voice and Harry felt himself calm down a little.  
"Malfoy's a bloody teacher at Hogwarts this year!" Ron called out in reply to his wife who then popped her head into the living room.  
"A _teacher_?" Hermione scrunched her nose in confusion rather than disgust.  
"A teacher!" Ron confirmed as Hermione took her seat next to him.  
"Which class?"  
" _Defense against the dark arts_ ," the boys said in unison, though Ron spoke with much more enthusiasm.  
"Suits him." she said matter-of-factly and Harry groaned, defeated, while Ron stifled a laugh. "What's the big deal?"  
"I don't really have one, it's just- it was the last thing I expected to find sitting at my breakfast table! Not to mention school started 10 damn days ago! Why's he so late?" Harry was feeling aggressively defensive now, of what he didn't know. Hermione seemed too calm, Ron seemed too juvenile.  
"McGonagall didn't tell you anything first?" Hermione asked him, as rational as always.  
"No. I asked and she avoided the question."  
"I bet she did," Ron muttered and Hermione gave him a look.  
"You should talk to him, Harry. I wouldn't be so sure this is a bad thing."  
"How could it not be? Not only do I have to put up with hundreds of students and, not one, but 2 or 3 classes almost every day, I will now have to deal with that pompous ass! In teachers meetings, at breakfast lunch and tea." The more he spoke, the more childish he felt under Hermione's stare.  
"How do you know he's still a 'pompous ass'?" she dramatically retorted, making sure Harry understood she thought this was absolutely silly.  
"It's _Malfoy_! How could he not be?"  
"That's just rude and presumptuous, Ron," she chided him and he continued to smirk at her, unwavering but no doubt sleeping alone tonight. "The war changed us all, Harry. Draco himself lied for our benefit when those bounty hunters found us." Hermione spoke incredibly softly and Harry found it almost impossible to deny her logic.  
"Y'know I've wondered about that, actually," Ron interjected suddenly, as if it were the most complicated and interesting thing a person could ever ponder.  
"I'm sure we all have," Harry agreed, his brow furrowed.  
"Maybe because he was a spoiled brat who learned too late that his family was in too deep with some very bad people." Neither man responded, too guilty to disagree despite how correct she probably was. "Try and talk to him, Harry. You might be surprised," she offered a genuine smile, Harry tried to return it.  
"Alright, alright. I'll sit next to him at dinner tonight or something."  
"Oh my _god_ you can't be serious? You know you'll have to actually _talk to him_ , politely, while people _watch_ you two?"  
"Tactful as always, Ron," Harry grins at him sarcastically, suddenly aware of how crushed his ribs were starting to feel after lying on his stomach this whole time with his head in the fireplace. "I should go, I've got to teach some 5th years about Thestrals."  
"Thestrals? You know almost no one in your class, if anyone, will be able to see them," Ron said, stating the painfully obvious.  
"Yes, Ron, but they're sure to understand _something_ is there when I feed it a dead ferret."  
"Is that supposed to be a Malfoy joke?" Ron laughed openly and Hermione tried very hard not to join him. ' _Tried_ '.  
"You two are incorrigible," Harry shook his head but laughed as well. He was going to really miss them this year.

* * *

The day passed surprisingly quickly and Harry concluded it was because anything would seem like a pleasant time with the prospect of talking to Draco Malfoy hanging over your head.  
The morning class with the 3rd years went by nicely, Haigslea was quite taken with the Hippogriff Harry had chosen as the class subject, though Castra's interaction had been a different story. The 5th years seemed mesmerized by the Thestrals, watching in awe as dead rodent after dead rodent was consumed by seemingly nothing. Harry noticed that one boy could see them, his eyes wide with a mix of fascination and horror but he chose not to mention it, so Harry didn't either. The cause for Thestral sightings was seldom something a person would be eager to talk about.

But, the day was over, and Harry sat in his office, leafing through a stack of parchment as dread began to settle in his limbs, making him reluctant to move.  
"I should probably put together some fact sheets or something..." Harry scratched the back of his head before taking 25 pages of parchment from his drawer. He placed them on the desk in a messy stack and with a lazy flick of his wrist, a quill began to independently print out basic Hippogriff behavioural habits. He huffed as if exhausted while watching the quill move in even, smooth twists across the page, occasionally gliding swiftly from parchment to ink well and back again. He knew all too well there was only so long he could delay going to dinner and so he stood up and stretched, pushing his glasses back into position on his nose. He crossed the room, opened the door and exited, leaving the quill scribbling alone in his office.  
To his relief Haisglea wasn't outside his office; he didn't know if he could handle another conversation with her right before facing Malfoy. That kid really needed to find a different teacher to pick on.  
Harry joined the straggling groups of students walking into the great hall, most of the school already seated and half finished their meals by now. His eyes scanned the table for Malfoy and found him sitting rather still between two other teachers, his arms folded as he stared down at an empty plate. Did that man ever eat?  
He was approaching the table- feeling somewhat relieved that he had a plausible excuse to avoid his long-time rival- when Malfoy chose that moment to look up.  
Shit, _shit_. Harry pointedly looked away, feeling completely ridiculous at having been caught staring. Stupid, _stupid_. He kept walking, eyes set on a vacant seat 3 chairs to Malfoy's right- next to McGonagall.  
As he walked the length of the hall, Harry was surrounded by students on both sides. They laughed loudly, talking animatedly about this or that. Some students were even using this chance to study, enchanted spoons feeding them as they read.  
When Harry took his seat, McGonagall greeted him politely as usual and Harry had to force himself to reply.  
"Evening."  
"Have you spoken to Draco yet, Mr. Potter?"  
"' _Draco_ '?" Harry repeated, unaware the two were on a first name basis.  
"Per his request," she answered his implied question before taking a sip of water, the heavy tankard seeming oddly out of place in her delicate hand.  
"What kind of request?" He knew it was none of his business but he couldn't keep himself from asking anyway.  
"Have you talked to him yet?" she ignored his question and repeated herself instead, causing Harry to shift uncomfortably in his seat.  
"You sound like Hermione."  
"You've spoken to Ms. Granger about this?" she spoke quickly as if surprised. "Actually I suppose it's _Mrs. Weasley_ , now."  
"I firecalled her today, yeah. But, no. I haven't talked to Malfoy yet. I was kind of planning to tonight actually, though, but- he's busy."  
" _Busy_?"  
"Well-. There wasn't an empty seat next to him, so..."  
"You give up rather easily, Mr. Potter," she was obviously joking but as usual, she was right.  
"Okay, okay, I'll talk to him soon, alright." Harry shrugged, feeling childish again for probably the 30th time that day. _When did McGonagall turn into Hermione?_  
"You know, I think you'll be surprised," she added before she stood up and left the great hall, her green robes swaying most dramatically in her wake.

"Potter, fancy meeting you here."  
"Malfoy." Harry looked up to find Slytherin's golden child staring at him with bored, grey eyes. The great hall's occupants had halved since McGonagall's departure half an hour ago. Since then, Harry had done his best to look inconspicuous while eavesdropping on Draco's very boring conversation with Professor Flitwick.  
"You've hardly changed at all over the last- what, 4 years?" He spoke in his usual drawl before taking McGonagall's seat and leaning back as if he owned it.  
"4 years, yes. Heard you're a teacher now?" Harry already knew the answer but figured he might as well _try_ and be friendly.  
"Heard the same of you, actually."  
"Not exactly by choice."  
"Yes, didn't really think being an educator was your scene, Potter. Aren't you more the 'hero' type?"  
"' _Hero type_ '?" Harry clenched his jaw, already agitated despite the unnerving lack of _bite_ usually found in Malfoy's words.  
"Learn to laugh, Potter," he sighed , standing up and adjusting his vest, apparently tired of their interaction. "I hear it's good for the soul."

* * *

 **DPOV**

Potter sat in silence; not a single item had touched his plate during his time at the teachers' table. McGonagall had long since left before Flitwick too exited the hall and Draco decided it was time the two of them had a conversation; no matter how unpleasant the idea. Draco stood up and walked over, fingers itching- itching- itching.  
"Potter," he said, his voice much calmer than he'd expected. "Fancy meeting you here."  
"Malfoy," came the curt response before Potter decided to look at him. _Fingers scratching- scratching- scratching._  
Potter was still in the same red shirt and faded jeans and Draco resisted the urge to comment directly. "You've hardly changed in the last- what, 4 years?" He took the seat closest to Harry and sat back, trying to ground himself in the moment with something stable, something solid. Potter replied, speaking as he always had; with defined indifference. _Irritating_.  
"4 years, yes. Heard you're a teacher now?"  
"Heard the same of you, actually."  
"Not exactly by choice." Now what does _that_ mean? Something about Potter's tone told Draco it'd be unwise to ask.  
"Yes, didn't really think being an educator was your scene, Potter. Aren't you more the 'hero' type?"  
"' _Hero type_ '?" Potter regurgitated his words as if he found them poisonous. Draco supposed there was no room in the 'chosen one's' life for humour.  
"Learn to laugh Potter. I hear it's good for the soul." He stood up, obviously not welcome. Such a disappointment to find he hadn't really changed despite what they'd both been through. Must be an absolute _blast_ being girl-Weasley- Ginny, was it?-, having to put up with him all the time.

* * *

A week passes dreadfully slow at Hogwarts when you have nothing to do, no classes to teach. Unwilling to socialize and unable to even visit the Slytherin common room, Draco found himself wandering the spires of the castle looking for things to do, places to explore. Admittedly during his time as a student he didn't fancy exploration- that always seemed to be Potter's thing. Now as a professor he had far more freedoms than before, able to stroll the library's restricted section on a whim despite his complete disinterest in shrieking novels and illegal spells. He'd certainly had enough of illegal spells.

There were endless empty rooms filled with dust and the echoes of past classes and events; ghosts of after images both real and imagined. Halls that led to abrupt dead ends, several attics filled with desks of rotted wood stacked precariously atop one another in corners, blanketed by yet more dust. After days of wandering he found that this school, so riddled with rumors of danger and conspiracy, was in fact, just a school.  
When exploring the castle lost its appeal, Draco began to wander the grounds. To his distress he found Potter was often wandering outside as well, sometimes near that wretched hut or the Quidditch pitch, sometimes both within the same hour. An alarming amount of awkward moments occurred no matter how hard Draco tried to avoid the other man, though Potter was usually the first to turn heel and flee.

During the afternoon on Friday, Draco walked to the Quidditch pitch carrying a duffel bag that held his broomstick and his old Slytherin jersey. He entered the locker rooms and found the shower heads were much lower to the ground that he'd remembered. The lockers were smaller, the benches covered in people's initials either carved or drawn. He placed his bag on the bench and withdrew a shrunken broomstick. A quick wave of his wand and the TinderBlast was normal size again, the sleek dark wood thrumming with a familiar energy in his palm. He exited the room and left his jersey in the bag on the bench, suddenly feeling silly for even bringing it.  
The pitch was even larger than he remembered, stretching on for what seemed like miles. The giant goals loomed over head on either side, gleaming in the afternoon sun as Draco mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. He wasn't sure what he had planned to achieve by going on a random fly around the pitch but he felt like he finally had something to do, somewhere to go. Maybe he'd fly over the lake, or up to the astronomy tower...  
The house stands stood in the same places they always did, decorated with their respective colours; blue, green, yellow and scarlet.  
 _Scarlet_. Draco could scarcely believe he saw Potter sitting on the Gryffindor stand, apparently watching him. _Unbelievable_. Even in the fucking _sky_ he couldn't avoid this idiot.  
"Potter, what brings you here," Draco flew closer, attempting to fix some kind of smile on his face despite feeling as if he were about to be sick.  
"Why are you flying your broomstick? Shouldn't you be grading papers or something." Friendly as ever.  
"My classes don't begin until next Monday."  
"Why's that?"  
"McGonagall said it'd be easier." Draco touched down gracefully on the stand railing, pushing his windblown hair out of his face. When Potter still didn't speak, Draco asked him again.  
"Why are you sitting alone in a Quidditch stand? Shouldn't _you_ be grading papers?" Draco spoke with a laugh but it only seemed to annoy him further.  
"Whatever, Malfoy," he shook his head and stood up to leave, heading for the staircase that spiralled downward through the guts of the stand.  
"Y'know, Potter. We should have a rematch sometime."  
"I doubt the students would enjoy having two old seekers on their team for a years-too-late-revenge-match."  
"Not with a team, and not for revenge."  
"Then why?"  
"It seems to me we're both lacking in things to do around here. Couldn't hurt, right?"  
"Play a game with no beaters or chasers?"  
"Indeed. We just let a snitch go and see who catches it first."  
"Wouldn't that be too easy? No bludgers trying to crush our skulls in?"  
"Still after that zest of danger, are we?" Draco stepped backward off the railing, barely atop his broom as he floated slowly away from the stand.  
"If you say so," Potter shrugged and disappeared into the stairwell.  
"Well. That wasn't a ' _no'_."

* * *

Monday morning came with alarming news. The first Hogwarts disappearance. A female first year student from house Hufflepuff, Angelica Trancy. McGonagall addressed the school with a voice that rebounded off every surface and the silence was harrowing whenever she paused. An ocean of pale, sullen faces stared up towards their Headmistress and the teacher's table, their eyes hollow, their bodies motionless. Even the sky seemed mournful today; a pasty painting made entirely with too many shades of grey.  
When McGonagall took her seat, the hall remained silent. The first was a promise. Unspoken but deafening. Each face knew. They understood with complete clarity that this was not the last child. Merely the first.  
Potter sat quietly as usual, his expression unreadable. Did he ever talk to anyone?  
The food appeared on the tables, the familiar intense harmony of smells filling the room as students picked idly at one or two platters, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. This dramatic fall in morale did not bode well for his impending first class.

The students didn't stay in the great hall for very long, opting instead to go to their classes early. His first lesson was with some second years who, despite the frightful news at breakfast, seemed rather eager to begin.  
"Morning, class." Draco spoke in a clear voice when he entered the room and the students responded almost immediately, already seated. He walked up the aisle between their desks and stood in front of them, their expressions of expectation giving him a push he didn't know he needed. "For your first lesson this term, we are going to cover basic defensive spells and wards. Everyone up, we shall begin with a demonstration." The class stood up from their tables which Draco cast neatly aside with a confident wave of his wand, the excited murmuring oddly pleasant. The benches came to rest on the left side of the room and the students turned their attention to their new teacher.  
"My name is Professor Draco and I would like you to form a single file line in front of me." The students obeyed and Draco flicked his left hand at the windows which opened dramatically, pouring an almost unnatural amount of light into the room considering the swirling clouds outside. When the line had begun to form behind a small witch, Draco walked 5 paces backwards. When they had stopped shuffling, fighting over who would go in front of who, they looked again towards their professor.  
"Your name is?" He looked expectantly at the young witch and she seemed rather intimidated. The irony of the brazen 'Gryffindor' stitched onto the front of her robes nearly made Draco laugh.  
"Janice Pilthrope," she answered.  
"Good, now, Ms. Pilthrope, I want you to come stand here," he pointed just in front of himself and stepped to the side, allowing the witch to take his place. His eyes turned to the next student in line, a Ravenclaw boy with a round face. "Name?"  
"Chaswick, sir. Mason Chaswick."  
"Good, now you stay where you are. The rest of you, please move in formation to stand against the wall, out of the way."  
The students moved quickly and as Draco came to stand between Chaswick and Pilthrope, he decided that perhaps the day wouldn't be so difficult after all.

Class finished without any deaths, and Draco considered this a good start. Janice proved much stronger than Mason but didn't make it past a young witch by the name of Agnes Jaggerdon.  
The tables were back in place, the students gone. The blackboard had been wiped clean and Draco stood staring out one of the tall, slender windows at a group of darkly clad students making their way down a familiar slope. A full class, looks like, each carrying a heavy, moss green tome that had a striking resemblance to that of the frightful ' _Monster Book of Monsters_ '. Draco figured it'd be the 'Care of Magical Creatures' class until they all walked straight into the Forbidden Forest without the slightest bit of hesitation. Surely there wouldn't be classes in there during a crisis?  
"Where are they off to...?" It didn't take long for his curiosity to get the better of him and he was soon outside making his way across the grass towards the spot where the students disappeared. He hesitated at the tree line- dark, intimidating- when the all too clear memories of his first visit into this very same forest flooded his mind. His first year, his first detention.  
" _Potter_..." he spoke the name as if his tongue was made of tar, slow and heavy- disgusting. Without another moment to waste he stepped into the forest, eager to get this over with.  
The tree trunks rose up thick and fast, swallowing the sunlight and leaving him partially disoriented until his eyes adjusted. He could vaguely hear the students from somewhere up ahead, their black cloaks evidently blending in with the inky shadows. He followed their distant voices- thankfully a loud clan- while more memories of this particular forest occupied his thoughts. That embarrassing event with that Hippo-whatever... During that fourth year tournament that left Potter terrified... Sixth year when fleeing the castle after Snape kil-  
Draco winced and looked down in alarm to find blood beneath his fingernails, all over his arm. His charcoal vest had a patch smeared against the front of it and Draco blinked absently at the mess. His left arm was scratched raw and bleeding, a violent shade of red even in places that weren't bloody.  
" _Fucking-!_ Goddamned _useless-_ " he stopped walking and shook his arm away from his body, letting several droplets of blood land on the forest floor. He performed a quick, frustrated cleaning spell, forgetting to actually heal himself, and unfolded his dress shirt sleeve to cover the angry marks. The vest had stained somewhat and would take actual cleaning products to fix properly but he didn't have time right now. He began walking again, clenching his arm as it now felt on fire. _Damn it, damn it_.  
The voices of the kids sounded closer now and Draco noticed a sliver of light from between the gnarled trees; a clearing. As the students become louder, so did the undying chant that was slowly beginning to take over his every conscious thought. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. The fire in his arm only seemed to intensify in unison with the mantra- louder, rougher. _Desperate_. Without stopping Draco walked straight into the clearing and his mind ceased cascading in an instant when he realized where he was. Over 20 students gazed at him in mild amusement, their teacher following their gaze.  
 _Their teacher_.

"Malfoy?" Potter stood next to a black beast, skeletal in form with skin stretched and warped around its protruding bones. Others of its kind were gathered on the far side of the clearing in a tight circle, eating some kind of carcass.  
"What-"  
"What are you _doing_ out here?" Potter took a couple steps towards him and Draco released his steel grip from his own arm, suddenly aware his hand felt sticky. He looked down briefly, his arm bleeding through his white sleeve. "Are you-? Okay?"  
"What are those? Those- things?" Draco gestured vaguely at the giant- _horse_ type thing but Potter kept staring at him.  
"That's a Thestral. I'm teaching this class about them," Potter's words sounded carefully chosen, a short pause between each word. "But- _why are you here_? Your arm's bleeding."  
"Yes I know my arm's bleeding, you prat," Draco hissed, gripping it again self-consciously. "I fell over, or something," he added dismissively when Potter continued to stare at the red splotches on his clothes.  
"You? _You_ fell over?"  
"Yes."  
"Over _what_?"  
"Does it matter? You're standing next to- _god knows what_ \- and all you care about is my stupid arm?" The question was rhetorical but overly defensive and Draco fought hard to keep the heat from climbing up his neck and onto his face.  
"It's a Thestral," one of the students spoke up, repeating Potter's words. A young boy with a slim face and dark skin, apparently from house Slytherin. "They're only visible to those who have witnessed death."  
"Malfoy?" Potter's eyes hadn't left Draco's direction since the moment he entered the clearing and honestly it was becoming annoying.  
"Fuck, Potter, were you always so bloody nosy?" Draco spat before turning on his heel and leaving the clearing, his face no doubt more red than his arm.

* * *

It was late afternoon and Draco sat in McGonagall's sparsely decorated conference room with his arms folded against his chest. Every so often he would cast a quick glance in Potter's direction as he stood slouched against the wall, hands in his pockets. There were plenty of spare seats left and he found it rather strange that the famous Harry Potter would choose to stand all the way over there on his own. Draco then scoffed under his breath, hardly able to believe he'd felt so embarrassed in front of him mere hours ago.  
During the conference his attention drifted between the headmistress and Potter, though finding neither one particularly interesting. McGonagall was asking all the wrong questions and Potter seemed entirely too busy in his own mind to pay attention to anything she was saying. He was considering excusing himself with some phoney emergency when Potter finally decided to participate in the conversation.  
"Is there even anything else we can do, short of sending them home?"  
"That is what we're trying to determine, Mr. Potter," the headmistress responded curtly.  
"Sending them home probably isn't for the best, I greatly doubt any where is safer than here," Professor Slughorn added with a frown. His statement was followed by a murmur of agreement from the others and even McGonagall seemed to think so.  
"Perhaps even the usual holiday events should be called off," she said grimly, her lips pursed.  
"Cancel the holidays?" Potter exclaimed, utterly dumbfounded.  
"Not completely. But perhaps going home oughtn't be allowed until circumstances change."  
"You mean keep them here during Christmas?" Draco asked, suddenly interested.  
"That is exactly what I mean, Draco."  
"You can't be serious, Minerva," whined Slughorn who was probably looking to go home for the holidays.  
"But I am, Horace, unless you have a better plan?" Slughorn merely shrugged. Evidently he did not.  
"When will you tell the students?"  
"The sooner the better, I think."  
"But wouldn't later be better? Telling them now would only make the loss of Angelica Trancy even harder," Potter spoke with a peculiar forcefulness, now standing completely upright.  
"While you are correct, Mr. Potter, I think you'll agree that waiting will also take away their time to get used to the idea."  
Potter seemed out of replies, choosing to slump against the wall again with his nose scrunched up.

The conversation continued and neither man interrupted for a time. Draco watched Potter as he leaned against the cold stone wall, his arms now folded as he bit his lip in concentration. Not that he was actually paying attention after the conversation veered off into subjects even Draco couldn't be bothered caring about. Since his arrival, Draco had only seen Potter interact with his students, and McGonagall once or twice. He hadn't received any mail besides the usual newspaper and he spent most of his spare time sitting in the Quidditch stands or wandering the halls, seemingly directionless. Was Potter _friendless_? A pariah in a place that was once his kingdom? Draco supposed he would have found it funny if he didn't also feel that way. While his new peers seemed to thoroughly enjoy his company during meals, he found them tiresome. Featureless faces he grew up staring at in dusty classrooms; condescending and worn out. It was going to be a long year if he couldn't find something to occupy his time. Even that possible rematch with Potter seemed a terrific idea.  
"Professor?" Draco spoke suddenly, eyes still on his rival who turned to meet his stare.  
"Yes, Draco," McGonagall answered, her voice extremely lackluster.  
"I have an idea for the Christmas festivities."

* * *

 **HPOV**

"A _ball_?" Harry repeated, half laughing, half panicked.  
"A _masquerade_ ball."  
"With costumes?"  
"Absolutely."  
"And dancing?"  
"Naturally."  
"And decorations?"  
"Yes, that is also an obvious ball type element." Malfoy spoke and each word dripped with heavy sarcasm.  
"That sounds like an excellent idea, Draco," McGonagall confirmed with an air of enthusiasm Harry hadn't seen in her for weeks.  
"Wonderful. I'll begin making preparations, then." Malfoy seemed equally pleased as he leaned back in his chair.  
"I expect you'll be requiring assistance?"  
"Yes that would be appreciated but only if you have the time," his words were almost sickly sweet now, a peculiar grin across his face.  
"Oh, not with me, Draco, I'm far too preoccupied. You'll work with Mr. Potter on this, seeing as he has the ' _obvious ball type elements_ ' down pat."  
"Excuse me?" Harry protested in abject horror.  
"That's really not necessary, Professor-"  
"The matter is settled gentlemen. You're dismissed." The room stood up save for Malfoy who sat looking totally impassive, the total opposite of how he looked when he walked in on Harry's lesson.  
 _This is payback. I don't know how or why but this is definitely some sort of twisted revenge_. The room had cleared but the two men stayed where they had been throughout the conference, neither one prepared to move.  
'Why?"  
"Why what?"  
"Why everything! Why are you here? Why have you been following me all week? Why were you in the clearing today? And, fuck, why a _ball_?" Harry blurted a seemingly endless stream of questions and Malfoy remained unreadable but decided to at least face him.  
"Following you? Potter, don't flatter yourself. I can barely help it if you happen to be at the Quidditch pitch when I decide to visit it. You don't own the fucking stadium." Malfoy was now clearly irritated, his hand clenched around the part of his arm that was bleeding earlier today. ' _Fell over..._ '?  
"Fine. Then what about everything else?"  
"I don't owe you any explanations."  
"You do, you interrupted my class and you were _bleeding,_ Malfoy. You're too composed to just _fall over._ "  
"That's none of your goddamned business," he spat, breaking eye contact. After an agonizingly long silence, he spoke again. "I'll summon you if I need your help with plans." He stood, straightened his vest and left the room without so much as a 'goodbye', though Harry could have sworn he heard him mutter something akin to ' _fucking doubt it_ '. For someone known to have exceptionally fine breeding, he certainly spoke to the contrary.


	3. Chapter 3

**HPOV**

It was October 1st and Harry had been surprised when Malfoy took a seat next to him during breakfast. He found it particularly surprising because of how poorly their last conversation ended, just over 2 weeks ago.  
He'd asked Harry to help him choose some decorations for their ball, and reluctantly accepted when he spotted McGonagall staring him down. Harry had come to the conclusion they were both determined to punish him for something.  
"No."  
"This?"  
"Certainly not."  
"How about this one?"  
"Ergh, no way."  
"Okay, what about this _and_ this?"  
"Are you actually blind?"  
Harry sighed and dropped the baubles into his lap, defeated.  
"Do you like _anything_?"  
"Rarely," Malfoy replied as he examined two ornamental snowflakes carefully, holding them up against the light.  
"So, you don't like anything I like and you won't even tell me what you like, so explain to me again why I'm here?"  
"You are here because I need a second opinion."  
"On what, exactly? Because it doesn't seem like it's with Christmas ornaments."  
"On where we stand," Malfoy put down the snowflakes and tossed one of them to the side before looking at Harry with a focused expression.  
"You'll have to tell me because I have no clue," Harry wanted to groan aloud and leave but that was out of the question. He was supposed to be a mature adult now and running away was hardly an attitude befitting a Hogwarts professor.  
"Then I'll be blunt. I have no interest in being at loggerheads with you, Potter. We aren't 15 anymore. We have a job to do and childish bickering isn't going to get us anywhere."  
"Alright. But I'd like some answers."  
"Ask."  
"What are you doing here?" Malfoy blinked, then looked away and collected some tinsel from the floor next to where he sat crossed-legged.  
"McGonagall offered the position to me. I accepted."  
"Do you know why she requested you specifically? I mean, you were in _France_ , surely there were other options?"  
"I actually don't know why. I didn't ask. Next question."  
"Have you been following me, because? That's been weird."  
"Honestly I'd like to ask _you_ that question. Every time I turn a corner, you appear. This damned school seems a great deal smaller now than it used to," Malfoy spoke evenly but his brow was furrowed with discontentment.  
"You can say that again," Harry looked down into his lap, fiddling mindlessly with the messy pile of tackily coloured decorations that covered his legs. "Alright, so. That time in the Forbidden Forest?"  
"I was waiting for this question to present itself," Malfoy sighed deeply, throwing the tinsel to the side just as he had done to the apparently inferior snowflake. "I had just finished my lesson with some second years and I saw 20 kids walk into the forest from my classroom window. After having heard about that Trancy witch the same morning..." he drifted off, his hand moving absently over where his arm had been bleeding that day. Harry stared, rather impolitely, and noticed the fabric there on his dress shirt sleeve had been stitched up, evidently several times. He forced himself to look back at Malfoy's face rather than his arm.  
"You were worried about some random students?"  
"I'm supposed to be a _professor at Hogwarts,_ Potter. It wouldn't do to let children disappear by the handfuls, now would it?"  
"'Professor at Hogwarts'..." Harry repeated, feeling suddenly distant as he considered the words.  
"Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"  
"I have to keep reminding one of my students not to call me one," Harry sighed, hanging his head.  
"Was she the one you told off that morning during breakfast?"  
"Yeah. It's like she enjoys annoying me but she's also the brightest in her class? I can't make sense of it."  
"Can't a person be both bright and antagonistic?"  
"Hope you're not talking about yourself, Malfoy."  
"Is that a compliment?"  
"You wish." The conversation took a humorous turn but neither man was laughing. The air was still far too stagnant for that.

They continued rustling through the baubles and toys for a few moments before Malfoy spoke again, his voice deadpanning.  
"Now, I suppose you're going to ask about my arm again? Simple. I fell over."  
"You looked spooked, Malfoy."  
"I'd just never seen those- horse things before. Thestrals, yes?"  
"Yeah, well. You get used to it."  
"Do you though?"  
"Well. Knowing _why_ you see them isn't something you ever get used to."  
"I suppose not." Harry sat in mild awe, realizing that this was by far the most decent conversation they'd ever had. Which he found rather pathetic as they were talking about death while handling Christmas decorations.  
"Any other insipid questions you want answered?" Malfoy asked, his words harsh but his tone light.  
"Actually just one. Why a masquerade ball?"  
"I figured you could use a push into being more social."  
"You... you're planning this stupid ball... to get me to be social?"  
"Mmmhm."  
"Should I be flattered?"  
"Incredibly."

* * *

"Haigslea, stop teasing her," Harry tried his best to sound professional but he spoke as if he was half asleep.  
"Mr. Potter, I'm not teasing her!" Tina Haigslea protested as she held the dead ferret uncomfortably close to Isabel Castra's alarmed face. The other students stood mostly away from the Hippogriffs, some observing, others attempting to sketch them as they grazed.  
"Oh my god, Tina! Just feed it to the damn chicken horse!" Castra grabbed Haigslea's arm and pushed her away, looking upset but clearly trying hard not to laugh.  
"Haigslea do you want a detention?"  
"Oh, _fine_. Wingwisp, here, girl." An exceptionally large Hippogriff approached Haigslea when she held out the dead rodent, Castra now looking relieved. In half a second the ferret had been ferociously devoured and Haisglea was grooming her feathers lovingly. _Those two certainly got on well._

The sun was almost painfully bright today, and Harry felt completely drained after his almost all-nighter with the infamously bossy Malfoy. He had been both incredibly picky and unbelievably thorough when deciding on a simple colour pallet for the ball. It took him literally _hours_ to decide on the theme and the appropriate types of ornaments and decor that would go with his colour pallet best. It was nightmarish and long, filled with awkward silences and minor arguments until Harry decided things were easier if he didn't form any opinions. In spite of its unpleasantness, it wasn't the train wreck he had envisioned spending almost 18 hours with Draco Malfoy would be.  
Ice blue was the primary colour Malfoy had chosen to use, accompanied by lots of glass icicles and chrome baubles. In all honesty Harry found it to be very non-Chrismassy without traditional greens and reds, but he had to admit it was going to be quite impressive. Malfoy had spoken with something akin to excitement, but Harry supposed it was far too subdued to actually be a real emotion. Maybe it was Malfoy-brand excitement. Lively for him, but probably slightly depressed for anyone else. This change in attitude had Harry curious and he listened intently as Malfoy spoke of grandeur and majesty, considering every possible opportunity for pomp and circumstance. In truth he found Malfoy's Malfoy-brand excitement oddly... enthralling.

"You know, Professor," Haigslea said suddenly in an unusual tone, dragging Harry forcefully out of his daydream.  
"You literally just called me 'Mr. Potter' not 5 minutes ago, is it really so hard to remember?" she merely shrugged and flashed him a grin.  
" _Mr. Potter_ , is it true what they say about you?"  
"Is what true?" Harry felt his guts drop, knowing exactly where this was going.  
"You know. That stuff about 'you-know-who'."  
"I don't know what you've heard but it's probably not true." Harry found this student so exhausting that he often wondered if he could have her taken out of his class. It seemed a good idea until he considered that kicking her out would probably make her even more unpleasant.  
"My parents say you killed a bunch of people," she spoke without hesitation, still carefully tending to Wingwisp's feathers. When he didn't respond, mostly due to shock caused by her bluntness, she continued. "Not that that's a bad thing, my 'rents are proper fans and all. It's actually pretty weird being in your class after hearing so much about you since I was little."  
"To be clear, Haigslea, I didn't kill anyone. The only thing I ever personally killed was a Basilisk, and if it weren't for a very generous phoenix, the battle would have ended in a tie."  
"You never killed anyone?" she sounded almost disappointed and Harry could scarcely believe he was having this conversation with a 13 year old witch.  
"No."  
"Not even whats-his-face?"  
"No. He destroyed himself."  
"I don't know if my 'rents'll believe that but, if you say so, Professor."  
" _Tina Haigslea I will get your Mother to send you a howler during breakfast if you keep that up_."

* * *

October 31st was quickly approaching and more students had been taken. Nightly patrols were set up weeks ago and still children were going missing from their dorms. McGonagall continued to make speeches and take precautions but nothing was changing, not even the _Daily Prophet_ seemed able to dig up any answers. The students themselves had sunk into a state of quiet panic, classrooms brimming with exhausted teenagers who fell asleep on their textbooks, forgot their wands and spoke off-topic nearly constantly. Educating these students was becoming nearly impossible. Even Haigslea had lost some of her usual spryness.  
The only time the school seemed normal was during meal times, but even then things had become... unusual.

Malfoy had taken to sitting next to Harry at breakfast and dinner, though usually silent as he read through interior design catalogs. He was really going all out on this project.  
"Have you always been so obsessed with shiny things?"  
"You're hilarious."  
"About time you noticed."  
"Har har. What do you think about these sconces?" Malfoy held open a glossy book with still-pictures and Harry examined the lights displayed on the page. They were made of frosted glass and resembled icicles, sticking out from the wall diagonally.  
"Suits your theme doesn't it?" Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice and tried to sound as if he cared.  
"They do, they do. But the next question is- glass or actual ice?"  
"Well unless people start embracing the sconces at random I doubt anyone would notice the difference, Malfoy."  
"I would."  
"Were you always so pedantic about aesthetic?" Malfoy gave Harry and stare that screamed 'have you been blind for the entire 13 years we've known each other?'. "I'll take that as a yes, then."  
"This ball needs to be splendid, Potter. People will know I was in charge of it and if it's _shabby_ then people will think I'm shabby, too," Malfoy spoke plainly as if he didn't just reveal something Harry assumed would be personal.  
"You've worked tirelessly for weeks and the ball isn't even happening for another 2 months. It's going to be fine," Harry finished his tankard of juice and poured another one before gazing lazily out over the ocean of students.  
11 students had been taken over the last 24 days.  
"Malfoy?"  
"Mmmm?"  
"What do you think is going on?"  
Malfoy looked up from his magazine and followed Harry's stare.  
"With the disappearances?"  
"Yeah."  
"It was worse in France when I left. It's only going to get worse here too. The papers there had no more leads than the Prophet does." Malfoy shrugged, looking towards the Slytherin table. "To be perfectly honest, I have no solid idea about what's going on but someone is obviously gathering these students for a purpose."  
"You don't think they're being killed?"  
"No one would steal this many magical students just to kill them. My guess is whoever is responsible is building some sort of army."  
"From children? What makes them think children are going to obey them, let alone effectively?"  
"I don't know, Potter, I'm not the one building a crazy child army. I'm the one building a masquerade ball."  
"You really need to take a break from that, it's got to be getting stressful."  
"There's nothing else to do. That's the main reason I suggested this event."  
"The other reason being your deeply rooted concern for my social life, yes?"  
"Of course." Malfoy nodded decisively before a sly grin crept onto his face. "You know what we should do?"  
"'We'?"  
"Break out your broomstick, Potter. We're going Seeking."

* * *

 **DPOV**

"So, hey. Remind me what we're doing?"  
"I always got the impression you were far more spontaneous than this, Potter, what with all the rule breaking and Dark Lord killing."  
"You sound like Haigslea."  
"That overeager student of yours?"  
"Yeah. She once literally asked me how many people I've killed."  
"And?" Draco asked, his expression expectant. Potter looked at him with a blank stare until he realized he was actually asking.  
"... None! What is people's fascination with this subject?"  
"No clue. But, to answer your first question, we are about to engage in an adequately dangerous Seeker-only quidditch match."  
"Malfoy it's raining. At _night_. On _Halloween_."  
"As I said- 'adequately dangerous'."  
"Why does it have to be dangerous?" Potter sounded absolutely dumbfounded as they shuffled about the locker room, cleaning their goggles and double checking their safety equipment.  
"Well you seemed rather uninterested when I first mentioned this idea."  
"Yes. Because it was with _you_ , you dumbass, not because I couldn't potentially _die._ "  
"You wound me, Potter."  
"Your stupid idea is literally about to wound _me_."  
"You're a grown man, last I checked. What's to stop you from going back to the castle?" Draco asked with an air of innocence before pointing his wand lazily at Potter as if threatening him.  
"That, mainly," he rolled his eyes and raised his hands in mock surrender and the leather bracers wrapped around Potter's forearm groaned loudly in protest.  
"As if a mere mortal such as myself could possibly hope to harm the mighty 'Chosen One'," Draco laughed and tucked his wand carefully into his robe pocket.  
"If you call me that one more time I will hex _you."_  
"I don't doubt it," Draco offered a half smile and reached down to pick up a small wooden box from the bench. "Ready to dance, Potter?" He opened the lid and a Snitch emerged, fluttering left and right erratically. Draco caught it quickly and without effort, holding it between his thumb and index finger.  
"Why not," Potter shrugged and put on his goggles before reaching for his broomstick.  
"Are you really going to be flying on that old thing?"  
"I haven't exactly been on the scene with broomstick technology these last few years," Potter admitted sheepishly.  
"Have you at least been riding it recently?"  
"Uh, no?"  
"Oh my god. Don't do anything reckless, Potter." Draco lifted his cloak hood over his head and put his broomstick on his shoulder before leading the way out of the locker rooms. The rain was extremely light but the pitch looked like a lake after so many days of this weather. The wind felt chilled but not overly strong despite how dramatically they made Potter's robes billow out. That sporty look really did suit him very well...  
Draco shook his head and focused on the broomstick on his shoulder, that familiar energy humming through his damp clothes.  
"We good?" Potter asked from behind, his nose wrinkled up beneath his goggles.  
"Here should be fine." Draco withdrew his wand and cast a spell, the stadium lights suddenly turning on and flooding the pitch with light. The Snitch still in his fist, he again put away his wand and turned to face his opponent.  
"Should we shake hands like the team captains normally do?" Potter asked, holding out his hand as droplets of water trickled across his bracers. Draco took his hand and shook it firmly, noting the peculiar warmth of Potter's skin.  
"May the best Seeker win." Draco let go of the Snitch and they watched it fly out of sight into the mist. Both men mounted their broomsticks and kicked off, each headed in different directions. Draco shot upwards and halted 50 meters off the ground, turning to watch as Potter raced towards the three intimidating goal hoops. For someone who hadn't ridden in a while, he certainly didn't look it. He swerved between the poles with his usual skill, robes now soaked and heavy.

How long had it been? Nearly 2 months since he had seen him in the hall with that goofy look on his face, his attention clearly elsewhere as he slammed into Draco with all the grace of a legless flamingo.  
He hadn't been what Draco expected. He had expected Potter to be far more self assured- cocky like he was in school, perhaps even more-so now. But, instead, he was reserved, often alone. Extremely dismissive during their first few conversations and insistently reclusive with everyone. No exaggerated tales of grandeur like that ridiculous Lockhart chap.  
Draco flew in tight circles, scanning for a glint of gold amidst the rain while he watched as Potter did the same on the other side of the field.  
For the first time since meeting Potter, Draco realized he had many questions to ask him. Not all of them polite or cheerful. Not all of them he wanted answers to, but perhaps needed anyway. He rubbed his forearm, suddenly aware he let his mind wander too far. The bracers felt cold under his fingers, his cloak clingy and suffocating. The stadium lights were suddenly blinding and he could barely see as Potter took a sharp nosedive. He flew at the ground, his arm outstretched and his cloak flying wildly behind him. Draco watched, unable to move as Potter collided unceremoniously with the ground.

* * *

The room was bright- clinical, impersonal-, filled with the astringent scent of disinfectant and, oddly, dust. Why was it that no matter where you went, all you could smell was the dust?  
Beds lined the walls, thin curtains separating them from each other to create the illusion of privacy. Neat side tables, 4 occupants, one visitor. He stood at the end of the bed, coat slung over his left forearm as he stared down at the broken man. What had Madame Pomfrey said? Some long list of ridiculous injuries. 4 broken ribs, a punctured lung. His right arm snapped in 3 places and almost his entire torso was black from bruising. Though, the broken nose and dislocated shoulder was already healed up.  
He stood at the end of the bed in silence, waiting to feel something, waiting to say something. 3 days had passed since Potter crashed and he'd been unconscious for all of them. Explaining how and why Draco had turned up in the hospital wing during dinner hours carrying an unconscious professor in his arms had not been an easy task. There were a lot of healing spells and and potions and mending, and lot of muttering and being shoved around out of the way as Madame Pomfrey went about fixing the notorious daredevil. During his spare time Draco was by Potter's side, usually flicking absently through his collection of glossy magazines, all of which he'd read a thousand times over.  
He stood at the end of the bed, unable to explain why he had visited the comatose wizard for the 3rd day in a row. It's not like it was his fault Potter decided to fly into the mud and break his entire damn body. Was it?

"Madame-"  
"Mr. Malfoy, no. He's not woken up yet. I told you if he did I would let you know immediately."  
"Can you do anything to wake him up?"  
"It'd be unwise to force him up. He's knocked his head around pretty well, you see."  
Draco sighed and took his usual seat next to the bed, his coat resting in his lap.  
Hours crawled by, the sun slinking out of view so slowly Draco almost took it as a personal offense. He found himself watching the rise and fall of Potter's chest more often than not, the rhythm oddly distracting. Slow and even but shallow, the effects of the broken ribs obviously still present despite the spells and potions. Other than that, the man looked peaceful; his lips parted just slightly, his eyes closed beneath the bangs of his unruly black hair. The scar was barely noticeable against his skin now and Draco thought bitterly about how he wished he could say the same. His hand gripped tightly around his left forearm and he concentrated hard, inhaling deeply through his nose. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfeeling. Inert and unfe-  
"Can you shut up."  
"I wasn't talking."  
"Yes you were," Potter turned his head to stare blearily at Draco.  
"You shouldn't move around too much, Pomfrey will have a heart attack."  
"Pomfrey...?" he spoke quietly to himself, obviously trying to remember how he ended up in Madame Pomfrey's care. "I'm in the hospital?"  
"Yes."  
"I crashed?"  
"Yes."  
"How?"  
"You flew straight into the ground from, like, 30 meters. I specifically told you not to do anything reckless," Draco scolded, watching with curiosity as Potter's expression changed from confusion to realization.  
"I saw the Snitch," he said with a soft laugh that made him wince.  
"You broke yourself pretty badly."  
"How bad?" Draco explained the list of injuries and Potter merely laughed, even though each time made his ribs ache.  
"You need to stop laughing," Draco ordered, giving the injured idiot a stern look.  
"Can you get the nurse, this bloody hurts- ah!" Potter was shifting uncomfortably in his bed, trying to sit up.  
"Oh my god, lie back down, Pomfrey will have a hissyfit if she sees you fucking up her hard work," he pushed Potter back down on the bed, trying to keep a straight face. "Pomfrey!"  
The matron came bustling over from her desk on the far side of the expansive room, her hair in a mess.  
"Finally awake are we Mr. Potter? You've been out for nearly 4 days, you have," she spoke loudly despite the late hour. "Mr. Malfoy here has scarcely left your side."  
Draco watched as Potter raised an eyebrow at him, obviously asking 'is that so?'. His brain scrambled in search of an answer, and he said the first excuse that came to mind.  
"My room's nearby and I've been waiting for you to wake up because I need your help with some swatches." He felt like banging his head on the floor. _Swatches? Fucking swatches? Oh my **god.**_  
"Uh huh. Swatches," he sounded completely unconvinced but grinned anyway. Odd.  
"How are those ribs feeling? I've given you enough potions to knock out a troll," she spoke briskly, uncorking yet another potion that had been sitting on the bedside table.  
"They're not great, but I _feel_ great," he answered in a light tone, still staring at Draco who tried desperately to act as if he didn't notice.  
"Yes you'll be feeling quite giddy for another 12 hours or so."  
"Then I should be going, I have- reports to work on." Draco stood to leave but felt a hand grab his.  
"Malfoy," he turned to find Potter had finally managed to sit up, a stupid grin still on his face. "Bring those _swatches_ by tomorrow, yeah?"  
"If I have time," he replied, barely above a whisper when he felt Potter's hand let go.  
"Mr. Potter, lie down!" Pomfrey commanded and Draco took this opportunity to quickly exit the hospital, his mind a blur.

* * *

The sun was again beginning to intrude upon the darkness, wisps of sunlight purging the hazy evergloam. Draco lay face down with his head buried amongst a cluster of pillows, cursing himself for visiting that comatose git.  
He groaned loudly and sat up, his hair a mess of white strands after a night without sleep. He rubbed his eyes and concentrated on the steady scratching of his quill in the office. So many students to deal with and so many classes... He had no idea how he was going to stay on top of it if he kept letting Harry Potter distract him every 5 minutes. And the bad memories certainly weren't helping, either.  
At barely 5am he heard a knock on his office door. He stood and rolled up his tattered left sleeve, attempting to tame his hair before he made it to the door. He knew McGonagall would be standing on the other side with that look of exhaustion she always had at this hour. Another student had been taken.

Draco sat in the conference room, his hair now immaculate, his clothes presentable. The space where Potter usually stood against the wall was vacant today, as it had been for every meeting since his accident. _Perhaps he'd sit next to me when he's recovered._..  
He frowned briefly to himself, wondering where his trail of thought had taken him. _Ridiculous_.  
"15 students are gone and we have nothing to tell their families. They're disappearing faster now and so I think it's time we increase the number of staff on night watch." There was a whisper of agreement in the room, the teachers themselves already too tired of take on any more patrols but at a loss of what else to do.  
"I volunteer," Draco said, raising his hand. "I'm sure Potter will too when he's out of the hospital."  
"Very good, Draco," McGonagall sighed in appreciation, her fingers rubbing at her temples slowly. Two other teachers added themselves to the roster by the end of the meeting and then they were dismissed, free to go to breakfast. Draco didn't linger at the teacher's table, opting instead to grab a plateful of food for Potter before he made his way to the hospital wing. He walked briskly, the occasional student greeting him in the corridor, reminding him he had classes to run within the hour.

Potter was sitting upright in his bed with today's copy of the _Prophet_ , a variety of ugly looking potions on his bedside table.  
"Morning," Potter greeted him, folding the paper and placing it on the bed next to him. "Breakfast on the go?"  
"Yours actually. I figured you'd like something substantial after all the rubbish Pomfrey's been feeding you."  
"That. Is oddly thoughtful," he grinned the same dopey grin he had 6 hours ago and Draco wished the damn potions would wear off already. His carefree attitude was entirely unsettling.  
"That's me. Thoughtful Malfoy," he grimaced at his own name and Potter raised an eyebrow.  
"I've been meaning to ask- Why do McGonagall and your students call you by your first name?" He took the plate from Draco and began to eat a piece of toast with more enthusiasm than Draco would have thought possible for someone in his condition.  
"I, uh," Draco sat down in his seat and rubbed his arm nervously. Being forthcoming had never been one of his strong suits. Least of all with Potter. "I asked them to use that instead."  
"Well, yeah obviously," he spoke with his mouthful and Draco wrinkled his nose in mild disgust. _I hope it's just the drugs making him do that_.  
"It's an unpleasant reminder of the things my family was involved in," he felt as if he'd thrown up the words; they always left such a bitter taste in his mouth.  
"Should I call you Draco instead, then?" he bit into the toast again and crumbs went everywhere.  
"Pomfrey will have a heart attack if you keep _eating_ like that," he spoke quickly, eager to change the subject.  
"Oh, shit-" he looked down, apparently surprised by the mess he'd made. He attempted to flick the crumbs onto the floor and Draco groaned out loud.  
" _Oh my god_ , you're a fucking wizard, dumbass," he withdrew his wand and waved it, the crumbs disappearing instantly.  
"My wand's in the draw, I can't reach it from here," he shrugged, unable to keep the smirk off his face.  
"That's a truly pathetic excuse, Potter, even for you."  
"Call me Harry, _Draco_ ," he whined sarcastically through his mouthful of toast and nearly choked when he started laughing.  
"I like you better when you're sober," he muttered shortly, rolling his eyes.

He left soon after, classes about to start. His class of second graders were tired, terrified. In an effort to perk them up, Draco got them dueling in pairs while he sat half asleep at his desk, a cold cup of coffee now home to his quill. November brought a new chill to the air, the fireplace behind him was even colder than his coffee. Even during the dueling the students were still sluggish and drained, making the class feel as if it lasted eons. Then, to Draco's despair, the next one felt even longer.  
"Take out your books. Today we begin learning about the infamous Patronus spell." A 7th year witch at the back of the class raised her hand and Draco elected to ignore it. "The patronus is an extremely advanced spell and as such we'll only be working on understanding the theory." The witch lowered her hand, her unasked question apparently answered. "The patronus spell has two forms; incorporeal and corporeal. Can anyone tell me the difference? Yes, Parksley."  
"Incorporeal is when the spell is only half formed, which on its own is an achievement because the spell is so difficult. Corporeal is when the spell takes the form of a silver animal."  
"5 points to Hufflepuff. Now the spell relies almost entirely on a person's ability to focus on an intensely happy memory, regardless of the situation they're in. Maintaining a happy thought in the presence of a Dementor would definitely be quite a task. Does anyone here know a person that can cast this spell?" Draco surveyed the room until again, Parksley rose his hand.  
"My father can make a corporeal patronus," he spoke clearly with that unique confidence found only in 7th year students.  
"And what form does it take?"  
"A dog."  
"Ah, one of the more common manifestations a patronus can take, but no less extraordinary."  
"Can you make one, Professor?" Parksley asked with genuine curiosity.  
"I have never been able to make even an incorporeal patronus," he said quickly, eager to move on from the question. "Another reason we're only studying the theory."


	4. Chapter 4

**DPOV**

As always the room was nearly empty but shining clean, the usual odors of dust and disinfectant invading Draco's senses. Orange light poured in from every direction as the sun began to set in the West and Draco walked purposefully towards his destination carrying a comically large stack of books in his arms.  
Potter's bed was vacant to his surprise but when he looked around the room more thoroughly he found him standing by one of the large, open windows. Great white curtains stained orange from the setting sun gently swayed in the cool evening air, looking almost as if Potter was wearing them as a cloak.  
"Up and walking, I see. About time," Draco greeted and then smiled when he noticed Potter jump in surprise.  
"Y-yeah, well, don't tell Pomfrey, she insists I stay in bed," he said with a curious expression, eying the stack of books. "What's that?"  
"Your homework," Draco said as he walked back to the bed and placed them neatly on the blankets.  
"I'm not one of your students, Malfoy," he rolled his eyes and walked gingerly over to Draco who watched him carefully.  
"Yes you are," he stated simply. "I'm teaching you basic _taste._ "  
"Taste?" Draco took the topmost book from the stack and opened it, revealing that it was, of course, an interior design magazine. "Oh, c'mon Malfoy, I'm in the bloody hospital," he whined pitifully and slumped down on the bed, careful to keep the books from toppling over onto him.  
"Potter, the ball is coming up fast and I still need to make decisions."  
"Yes, _you_ do," Potter huffed, dragging his fingers through his extra-unruly hair.  
"McGonagall assigned us both to this."  
"You're perfectly capable of doing it yourself," he replied shortly, rolling his eyes again.  
"That goes without saying," Draco agreed, knowing that under normal circumstances he would have no problem working alone; in fact, he usually preferred it. But this time was different somehow. Perhaps he wanted to make McGonagall proud? Maybe he didn't want to be alone at Hogwarts? Neither answer felt right.  
"So then why do you insist on my help?"  
"Besides the fact we were ordered to work together?"  
"Yes, besides that."  
"Do I even need a reason?"  
"Considering it was your idea and you never like my suggestions, yes you do." Draco sighed inwardly. searching desperately for an excuse but none came to mind. He decided a brief portion of the truth might be an easier option than trying to lie or explain it all when it didn't even make sense to himself.  
"It's insanely boring here, don't you think? The other teachers don't seem interested in much else outside their fields, and who wants to talk about herbology or whatever for a year?" He paused, collecting his thoughts while Potter sat in silence. "So I guess? There's nothing better to do. My only other idea landed you in the fucking hospital," Draco added bitterly.  
"Flying was a good idea, Malfoy. My idea to try and nosedive that steeply when I was out of practice, was not," he said casually.  
"You know you're nothing like what I expected."  
"How so?" he asked, picking up a random magazine and flicking through it. Before Draco could answer, Madame Pomfrey came walking towards them, a tray of food in her arms.  
"Supper time, Mr. Potter." She placed the tray on the bed side table and flashed Draco a disapproving look. "Mr. Potter should be in the bed, not these books," she chided before waving her wand and moving them to the floor. Forcefully she pushed Potter back down into the bed, pulling the covers over his legs and placing the tray on his lap. "I trust you can feed yourself." And just like that, she was gone again.  
"That woman is like a tornado," Draco muttered, picking his books up from the floor.  
"She's driving me crazy, honestly," Potter complained, looking at the tray with obvious disappointment. "Food's lousy."  
"Did you want to get out of here for a while, then?"  
"Wouldn't that piss her off?"  
"Has the prospect of someone's wrath ever stopped you before?"  
"Often, actually."  
"Another surprise. But who cares." Draco withdrew his wand and soon after his books were hidden carefully inside his cloak and the food tray was gone. He threw back the covers and dragged a confused Potter out of the bed.  
"Will this idea land me in the hospital for another 2 weeks?"  
"Only if you have vertigo."

* * *

 **HPOV**

His body felt like it was made of rusted gears, joints locked up and aching, unable to move freely. Harry could barely feel his legs as he sat cross legged next to Malfoy in the Astronomy tower, the sky ablaze with stars. The air was extremely cold but still now, and Harry watched the other man sit perfectly still with his legs dangling over the edge of the rickety wooden platform.  
"Been awhile since I was up here," Harry said casually, watching the clouds of steam manifest in front of his face when he spoke.  
"My thoughts exactly," he replied, almost distantly.  
"It's a nice view," Harry pressed, watching Malfoy for a reaction.  
"That's why I came up here. Wasn't really allowed to be here at night when I was a student," he shrugged.  
"Wasn't allowed to do much of anything as a student," Harry agreed with a light laugh, his ribs shouting in protest. He lifted a hand to his left side tenderly, smoothing out his breathing to ease the pain.  
"Still that bad?"  
"It's not fantastic, no," he laughed again and had to keep from swearing. "Potions must be wearing off."  
"We can go back if you want-"  
"No- i-it's fine. I'll just try not to laugh."  
"I really thought you would be fine by now. Hasn't it been 10 days or something?"  
"Pomfrey said mending bones is one thing but, I broke so many and punctured my lung and whatever, so she can't heal me too fast or things will set out of place." Malfoy nodded in understanding, his eyes glancing down at Harry's arms.  
"You cold? You're covered in goosebumps."  
"Freezing, actually. This hospital issue nightgown doesn't do much against the cold." Without saying anything, Malfoy reached under his cloak and pulled out something large and handed it to Harry. He lifted it up in front of himself and saw that it was a large, dark grey coat.  
"This too," Malfoy said, throwing a long green scarf onto Harry's lap.  
"You just carry around clothing inside your cloak?"  
"I keep a variety of things inside my cloak," he replied simply, fastening up the clip under his chin.  
"Huh," Harry furrowed his brow in thought as he threw the coat around behind him and over his shoulders, noticing the ever slight scent of mint. "So you keep clothes and shiny magazines inside your clothes?"  
"Beats carrying around a bag if you ask me," the other man stated plainly as he began to swing his legs. Harry nodded in silent reply, watching Malfoy's shoes glint in the half light as they moved rhythmically below them.  
"Aren't you worried your shoes will fall off?" Harry asked, adjusting the green scarf around his neck. _More mint._  
"I have others," Malfoy shook his head and looked down over the edge at his own shoes. Black. Shining. Completely scuff-less.  
"Are they in your cloak as well?" Harry snickered and then whined slightly from the pain.  
"No, but, maybe they should be," he raised his impeccable eyebrows in thought and Harry didn't know if he was serious or not.  
"Maybe we should play a game. I'll guess random things you might keep in your cloak and you have to answer honestly if it's true or not, okay?"  
"I don't really keep that many things, Potter- it's not the 'cloak of requirement'," Harry laughed and then swore loudly before laughing again and Malfoy shook his head. "That's just embarrassing."  
"Shut up, Malfoy. Alright, alright. Glasses."  
"I... I don't wear glasses, so no."  
"I have no idea why I asked that. Okay. Snacks?" The other man blinked and then squinted at him as if trying to read his mind.  
"Is that a _'random question'_ or did you actually know?"  
"I swear, that was a random question. Although, I never see you eat anything at dinner... do you eat snacks instead throughout the day?"  
"I eat macaroons," he said while pointedly looking away from Harry, putting his hands in his own coat pockets.  
"Do you have a favourite colour macaroon?"  
"... Pink." Harry put a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing too loudly and Malfoy shot him a look. "If you tell anyone, _I will kill you_."  
"Oh my god, who am I gonna tell? McGonagall?"  
"I'm sure Weasel-bee would love to have a good laugh about it," he rolled his eyes, pouting.  
"Well. True. Ron would probably find it truly _adorable_."  
"I am not ' _adorable.'"_  
"I don't know. Pink macaroons, fancy clothes, an obsession with interior design that verges on being erotic? Pretty cute," Harry said simply as if he were delivering some kind of inconclusive medical diagnosis.  
"It's a long fucking fall, Potter," he growled threateningly, leaning over the edge just slightly to appear like he was measuring the distance.  
"I know," he swallowed, sounding far more serious than he intended and Malfoy sat up straight.  
"So do I." His voice was flat and his eyes evasive, staring out over the canopy of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.  
"Would you have done it?" Harry asked, voice barely audible in the dead silence.  
"I honestly don't know," came the reply, even quieter still.  
"You should know, Malfoy- I don't hold a grudge about what happened back then." He didn't respond immediately, his expression unreadable.  
"You know, it's pretty late, I have papers to grade." He went to stand but Harry caught his arm and Malfoy froze again.  
"No- wait. Listen." Harry scrambled to find words he'd been meaning to say for weeks, since even before the Quidditch incident but found his throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. "I'm not so good with- dealing with? What- no. Wait. Okay. So, I know we had an impossible time in school here. trying to get along, and I thought it'd be the same now but, you've been not- completely- terrible?" Harry kicked himself mentally, suddenly both embarrassed for saying so much and frustrated that he hadn't said nearly enough. Malfoy turned to look at him, one brow raised as if waiting for him to correct himself or continue. Preferably both, probably. "You remember earlier, in the hospital wing, you said I wasn't what you'd expected? You haven't been exactly what I expected either. I remember you being so-"  
"I was a cunt, yeah," he nodded decisively.  
"That right there is the kind of thing I never expected to hear from you. You're still so _you-_ so obnoxiously refined and insufferably difficult but. It's been sort of nice hanging out with you." He took a deep breath and held it, completely unsure if he'd said the right thing or just made Malfoy uncomfortable.  
"You're taste is terrible, you dress like a homeless man and you apparently can't fly a broomstick anymore but as I said. You're not what I expected. I daresay Girl-Weasley's a lucky person."  
"'Girl-Weasley'? You mean Ginny?"  
"Yes. Girl-Weasley."  
"I'm not with Ginny anymore. Haven't been for years, actually," Harry said, picking at the skin on the side of his thumb.  
"I assumed...?"  
"After the war and everything... the air cleared, dust settled. We realized we were only together as some kind of intimate support group and then it just wasn't necessary anymore."  
"You find anyone else, then? Surely the famous Harry Potter can get himself some kind of girl within] 3 years?"  
"Yeah well. I don't go out much these days..."  
"So...? No one?"  
"No one."  
"I knew your social life was poor right now but I assumed that was just here? Because our colleagues aren't exactly what I'd call a lively bunch."  
"You know, you assume a lot about me, don't you?" Harry crossed his arms and flashed a smug grin. "Alright, you did me the courtesy so I'll return the favour. Ask me anything you want."  
"Who says I have anything to ask?"  
"You say so, with your ridiculous and repeatedly incorrect assumptions." Malfoy huffed before lifting his legs up onto the platform. He swivelled to face Harry directly, now sitting cross legged as well.  
"What have you been doing since we left school here?"  
"I've been doing things in the Auror office a lot, random things for the ministry. So much paperwork, honestly, it's a nightmare."  
"So is teaching."  
"Well. True."  
"But I meant your private life. Where do you live, what do you do in your spare time?"  
"I lived in London for 18 months after Hermione and Ron kicked me out of their place, and now I'm here. I don't really do much with my spare time besides look at the interior design catalogs you keep loaning me. Before doing that I just... wandered a lot."  
"I notice you do that, yeah. Alright. How did you really get a job here? And more importantly, why did you accept?"  
"Hagrid asked me to take his place while he went to Romania to study dragons. He really, really loves dragons... And pretty much any creature that can kill you, to be honest. But, he begged me to take the job and I'm not in the business of disappointing my family, so," he shrugged and Malfoy gave him a look that suggested he didn't believe him.  
"No other reason?"  
"I needed a break from London. I needed Hermione to get off my ass... Why are _you_ here, though? I know I asked a while ago but, I don't feel like I understand yet."  
"I needed a break from France. And, possibly... needed a chance at closure?"  
"Closure?" Malfoy frowned and looked down into his lap, apparently concentrating.  
"Are you sober? I am way, _way_ too sober for this," he eventually said, suddenly brisk as he unclipped his cloak and pulled out a flask.  
"I should have guessed flask instead of glasses," Harry mused in mock thought as he took the modestly sized tin. Half empty already.  
"Should you be drinking right now? Would it interfere with your meds?" Without giving a real answer Harry emptied the flask down his throat and then shrugged.  
"Hope you have another."  
"Several."

* * *

"What's your fascination with my cloak, Potter?"  
"Broomstick?"  
"... Yes."  
"Hahaa!" Harry held out the flask and Malfoy snatched it, his nose scrunched up in annoyance. He took a large swig and when he had no readable reaction to it Harry found himself impressed. "So that's, what? 5 things I've guessed correctly, and so you've had 5 shots?"  
"Yes and if we keep playing we'll both get alcohol poisoning. And die. Because you've had-... 1,2,3,4... 7 shots now- because you're terrible at this."  
"How was I supposed to know you don't keep cough drops on you?"  
"Because that's muggle medicine you idiot," he hissed, the smile across his face betraying any ill-intent he may have wanted to convey.

The air was still freezing, breath still turning to vapor as they walked- stumbled- across the Quidditch pitch together. Their speech was slurred and laced with laughter despite Malfoy's constant insistence that he was perpetually annoyed.  
"Do you keep a cloak inside your cloak?"  
"No."  
"Christ-" Harry took back the flask and downed another foul mouthful, choking back tears. "This stuff is terrible."  
"Yes but it's expensive."  
"So why buy it?"  
"If it's expensive, it means it's good."  
"But it's terrible."  
"Yes."  
"What?"  
"I don't expect you to understand my refined tastes, Potter."  
"If your taste is so refined and perfect why'd you leave a place like France?"  
"It was fucking boring, that's why." Harry nearly tripped over and Malfoy grabbed his shoulder, trying hard not to laugh.  
"You said before you wanted closure?"  
"Uuuugh don't make me talk about this," he whined, digging his nails into Harry's shoulder before pushing him over onto the ground.  
"Hahah- ouch- god _damn_ it, Malfoy-" Harry laughed, rolling on the wet grass in pain. "I'm going to annoy the answer out of you for that."  
"I'll tell you if you stop getting fucking grass stains on my coat." Harry, still laughing, obeyed, barely managing to stand up on his own. "I came back here because I thought I could try and make up for the shit I did."  
"Are you serious?" All humor had left Harry's face now, his eyes narrowed and focused as Malfoy looked down at his still-shiny shoes.  
"No I just said that incredibly personal thing for the hell of it."  
"I guess... I always just thought in the background of my mind that you would've just... let it go?"  
"How could I 'let it go'? I actively tried to kill people for no reason," his shaking hand was at his forehead now, obviously trying hard to hide his expression as he spoke.  
"You had a reason. You had a real reason to do it, but you still didn't want to. Isn't that enough? Isn't the fact you're trying- that you're sorry- enough?"  
"Don't go all hero-complex on me, Potter, I know how you operate."  
"Operate? Oh my fucking god, Malfoy don't be a prat."  
"No matter how hard I try, I still have to go to bed at night knowing I attempted monstrous shit, for no other reason than to save my own ass. There's no closure in that."  
"If you truly think that then why are you here?"  
"I don't know!"  
"Listen. I meant it when I said I didn't hold a grudge, Malfoy. Even though I figured you'd given yourself a pass on it. It was messed up, yeah? You were a fucking kid being coerced by your own family. What else were you meant to do?"  
"I don't know," he repeated, hands still hiding his face.  
"You saved my ass once. Ron and Hermione's too. Right in front of your family. That should count for something."  
"You saved everyone's ass, repeatedly, and all any of us ever did was give you shit for it." He lowered his hands, his cheeks the reddest Harry had ever seen them. "No matter what I do or where I go, I'm marked." He watched Malfoy's hand grip his left forearm, his expression bitter and Harry left as if someone had just turned on the light. The subtle patchwork stitching on all his shirt sleeves, the day in the clearing.  
"Malfoy. What have you been doing?" he pointed to Malfoy's arm as he gripped it.  
"I've tried everything. It... Nothing helps."  
"Is it hurting you?"  
"The fact it's there at all is painful enough." Harry stood perfectly still, the moonlight reflecting off the Quidditch goals as silence replaced their conversation.  
"I had no idea."  
"How would you." His question was rhetorical but Harry huffed and smiled, lifting a hand up to his own face. He pushed his bangs out of the way and Malfoy watched, momentarily confused.  
"It's not the same but, it's also not that different really, right?"  
"Can't remove yours, either?"  
"I've never really tried," he shrugged and Malfoy shook his head in wonderment.  
"Never thought I'd say this but, maybe I could stand to learn a thing or two from you."  
"I'm honored," Harry replied, bowing sarcastically before he gasped and stood up straight to ease the sudden pain.  
"You're a fucking mess, Potter."  
"So are you, Malfoy."

* * *

The next day came with a throbbing headache and countless foggy memories swimming in discord through his mind. His ribs and shoulders ached with a new ferocity as shattered conversations from the night before rejoined to make coherent sentences. Oh.  
Harry took a deep breath and rolled over to find a large stack of familiar magazines on the chair next to his bed, the glossy covers glowing in what appeared to be afternoon sunlight. Why are they here?  
"There was the Astronomy tower... the Quidditch pitch... oh my god- did we try to go swimming?" Harry frantically lifted the sheets and found them dry to his relief but the vague memories of cold water remained.

Afternoon faded to evening and Harry watched the clock tick by with minor anxiety. The lamps in the room were blazing now and he fidgeted with his sheets, his food tray abandoned and basically untouched. He was starved and praying that Malfoy would drop by with real food as he often had during his time here, but as minutes became hours he began to suspect there was a reason for his absence this evening. He'd spent most his time awake searching his memories from the night before for anything that may have upset the other man and sadly, plenty of potential moments came to mind. Things had gotten unexpectedly personal at several points but they had managed to recover from all the ones he could recall, but as the night went on and after his 9th shot of scotch, foggy turned to incomprehensible.  
"Fuck."

* * *

 **DPOV**

The meeting ran through most of dinner. Two students had been taken last night.  
"This is getting out of hand, we've heard nothing from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons in days and there has been no perimeter breaches whatsoever," McGonagall was flustered, wringing her hands as she paced back and forth in front of her nervous staff.  
"What can we do?"  
"Maybe they'd be safer at home after all?"  
"Should we increase patrol sizes?"  
Voices whirred around the room, panic on the rise as teachers asked questions that became increasingly irrelevant. Draco felt a ball of stress digging into his stomach, making him nauseous. _I should have been there. I shouldn't have been drunk. I could have prevented this._  
"Draco?"  
"Y-yes, Headmistress?"  
"Can Potter accompany you on patrol this evening?"  
"He's still injured but I'm sure he'll do it."  
"Go fetch him now. Monitor the hospital wing so he doesn't have to walk too far."  
Draco stood up and left, ignoring the tantalizing smell of the great hall as he passed it on his way to Potter's room.

He entered the room and found it empty except for Potter who sat peculiarly still in his bed, eyes on the clock.  
"Evening," Potter jumped in surprise but gave a sheepish grin in greeting.  
"Thought you wouldn't be coming."  
"McGonagall called a meeting. Two students went missing last night."  
" _Two?_ How the bloody hell are so many going missing with absolutely no trace?"  
"Clearly, we have no idea." He sighed, the nagging pit of stress in his stomach only worsening as he dwelled on the topic. His eyes wandered over to the bedside table and found the untouched food tray and he frowned. "Not eating again? You're going to get ulcers or something."  
"Says the idiot that lives off _pink macaroons_." Draco fought hard not to hiss at him in disgust, instead focusing on taming the heat that had instantly crept onto his cheeks. "Actually- can I have some? I'm starving."  
"Not surprised," Draco huffed and dug into his trouser pocket before pulling out a square silver tin. He lifted the lid to reveal a small stash of pink macaroons.  
"You weren't kidding about these biscuits," he said, taking three from the metal box. "So, when you don't wear your cloak, do you enchant your pockets instead?" Before waiting for a reply he took a bite out of his macaroon and spoke again, his mouth full. "Also, did we go _swimming_ last night? I remember-... water?"  
"Yes I enchant my pockets and no. We didn't go swimming. The only water related incident was when I tried to get you to drink water so you wouldn't be dead by morning. You weren't overly jazzed about the idea, though... You spat water on me." As Draco said the last sentence, Potter ironically spat again, only this time it was macaroons instead of water.  
"Oh- oh my god I'm sorry," his laughter suggested he was not at all sorry as he tried to recollect the soggy crumbs off Draco's navy blue vest.  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He smacked Potter's hands away and withdrew his wand with an agitated sigh. After a single wave the mess was gone but the other man's laughter was not. "Get up, we have patrol this evening."  
"Patrol? McGonagall knows I'm in the hospital, right?"  
"We're only patrolling this wing so you won't have to walk far."  
"Distance isn't the problem, McGonagall's decision is."  
"Why? Are you unable to patrol?"  
"No, I mean-... If she's asking an injured person to patrol it means she must be pretty desperate. How many students in total are gone now?"  
"25."  
"Christ." Potter lifted the covers off, still cradling his macaroons carefully. "Maybe we should just set up beds in one of the empty halls and have all students in the one place? Didn't we do that our third year or something?"  
"That's not a bad idea... I'll pitch it to McGonagall tomorrow. But for now we need to do our job. Are you able to stay awake all night?"  
"Yeah I think so? I slept till... like? 3pm? I was pretty hungover, I don't know if I read the clock right." Potter opened the bedside table, withdrew a pair of his trousers and slipped them on under his hospital gown. "Wait, didn't you have class today?"  
"Yes I did."  
" _What_? How did you get up for that?"  
"I didn't sleep," Draco said simply with a shrug as Potter stepped into a pair of beaten black and white sneakers.  
"How the hell do you intend to stay awake all night when you haven't slept in 2 days?"  
"3 days now." Potter stared at him slack jawed as if it were the most outlandish thing he'd ever heard. "I'll be fine, _I'm_ not the one on loopy potions."  
"That's true, these potions do make me pretty loopy. Too loopy to teach." They left the room and entered the dimly lit corridor. "Speaking of teaching, who's been leading my classes?"  
"I offered to take a couple but you've got that Grubbly-Plank woman leading it for the moment."  
"Wilhelmina? Oh jeez, how is she going to teach my students about d _ragons_?"  
"She does tend to lean on the cornish pixie side of beasts and such, doesn't she? But, she hasn't changed your curriculum. They're still on track with their studies despite your absence- and the disappearances."  
"This year isn't looking like a good one."  
"You can say that again."  
"But, we do have the ball to look forward to, right?" Draco stopped walking to look at Potter in mild shock.  
"Are you saying you're looking forward to the ball now?"  
"No, but. You are, right?" he turned to look at Draco and shrugged, his shoes scraping against the stone floor.  
"I'm largely stressed about it actually, we still haven't figured out the sconces."  
"Are you kidding- I thought you picked the ice shard ones?" Draco started walking again, his eyes scanning the darkness as he listened to Potter speak.  
"I was never sure about whether or not to make them real ice or not," he insisted despite the disbelieving look on the other man's face.  
"Don't make them real ice. They won't melt if they're made from glass."  
"But that makes it phoney-"  
"Then make them ice."  
"But I'll have to keep enchanting them over and over to not melt-"  
"Then get glass ones!"  
"But-"  
"This is insane, it's mid November, you need to make a decision."  
"Alright."  
"What if we made them glass but enchant them so that sublimation stuff comes off it to make it look visibly cold? You know, that cold vapor thing?"  
"That... Is actually a good idea. We'll do that, then." He nodded for a moment, hands in his pockets. "But, we still need to consider the menu and which ballroom to use. Also which drapes, tables, y'know."  
"Make everything twinkly and light blue. And if possible, frosted vapor glass, yes?" Potter ticked the items off on his fingers, frowning in concentration. "Also- how many ballrooms do we have to pick between?"  
"There are 3, not including the great hall."  
"3 ballrooms? For what!?"  
"Balls?"  
"Really? I wouldn't have thought of that," he rolled his eyes and Draco noticed how they seemed to glow behind his glasses in the half light. "Show me then tomorrow evening, before dinner, we'll pick one." Draco nodded in agreement and looked forward down the hall.  
"5 weeks is long enough to sort the rest out, right?"  
"5 weeks of you pestering me about frosted glass chandeliers is too long if you ask me." Potter seemed to realize he was still holding 2 macaroons and began to eat one of them. In the silence Draco began to wonder what would happen when those 5 weeks had gone. The ball had given them reason to hang out a lot over the last month and as much as it pained him to admit, Potter's presence had served as some kind of stress relief. He was definitely no where near as serious as he had remembered him being in school. In fact, he can barely recall a conversation they'd had back then that didn't include the phrase 'shut up, Malfoy'. Perhaps it was their drunken conversations that made Draco feel anxious at the idea of not being around him anymore. Perhaps it was just the idea of only being surrounded by old wizards obsessed with nothing but simple charms for 10 more months- he wasn't sure. But either way, he knew he wanted to keep this idiot around.  
"How mad was Pomfrey when you got back in last night?"  
"I can't remember anything past my... 10th shot? When I asked if you had a trampoline in your cloak."  
"Why the fuck would you ask that?"  
"Why don't you carry a trampoline with you?"  
"So I have more room for my macaroons."  
"That's so gay."

* * *

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